


Triad

by Bunn1cula



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Breeding, Breeding Kink, Episode: s02ep06 Trial, F/M, GPSC zine, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunn1cula/pseuds/Bunn1cula
Summary: After the Central Control debacle, a brooding Blake has unwisely teleported to unknown coordinates on an unnamed, unpopulated planet. Jenna and Avon must decide whether they wish to retrieve him or not.Set during s2ep6 "Trial."
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Jenna Stannis
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6
Collections: The House Always Sins





	Triad

**Author's Note:**

> Originally printed in the 2021 Blake's 7 fanzine _The House Always Sins_.

“You think he was faking it?” asked Cally.

“Everything but the self-pity,” said Avon. “That was real enough.”

“You’re wrong.”

Whether Cally’s certainty had stemmed from telepathic sensitivity or blind faith, Jenna didn’t know, nor did she care. She especially did not care to even acknowledge Avon when he called for her opinion on the matter. With Blake out of touch and the crew in confusion, Avon had things just as he wanted them, and Jenna couldn’t stand another second of watching him gloat over it. It was bad enough that Blake was being irrational and stupid; having to endure Avon’s relish over it revolted her beyond her limit of tolerance. The only palatable thing for her to do was to leave the flight deck, so she did. 

She stepped into her cabin and took a deep, calming breath once the door slid shut behind her. Inside, it was cool and quiet, and at the moment, relatively orderly. A much better spot for thinking than the flight deck. (Why couldn’t Blake have just done this instead of pulling such a bloody ridiculous stunt?)

She really couldn’t expect anything different from Avon, Jenna supposed, flopping onto her bed boots and all. He was just doing what he always did and looking to steer the situation to his favour. At least he was predictable. She just wished his ambitions weren’t always so stark naked. 

It irritated her — the gloating. Examining why it bothered her irritated her even further. Fucking Blake. Why did she feel so protective over him? He could be insufferably self-righteous, he never included her in decision making, and had little to no regard for his own personal safety in the first place, so why should she put herself in the thankless position of worrying about him? Maybe if she were getting more from him than a friendly pat on the shoulder for her efforts, it might be worth it. _Might_. 

The next time they put down on an even barely-civilised planet, she was going to get properly laid by someone she never had to look at ever again. 

Jenna bent one arm behind her head and willed herself to relax into just a few minutes’ fantasy. A short distraction before having to return to a rudderless ship on the verge of mutiny. A beach... ah yes. Soft sand, warm sun, cool waves... the man beneath her thick and smooth and strong, and oh dear, a little _too_ thick around the middle to be anyone but —

“ _Jenna_.”

She flinched at the voice coming from her door comm and stifled a screaming curse. 

“ _Jenna, I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you._ ” 

“Can’t I get even five bloody minutes to myself?”

“ _You may have that and whatever else you want if you open the door._ ”

Clearly, he was not going away. In frustration, she threw her pillow at the door. 

“ _Fine_. Zen, let him in.” 

“Thank you,” said Avon, stumbling mid-stride through the doorway as his boots tangled in her pillow. She watched him trip and indecorously flail for a moment before regaining his balance. It was a beautifully undignified entrance, but he simply scooped up the pillow and tossed it nonchalantly onto the bed as if nothing had happened. 

“What do you want?” she asked, not bothering to get up. 

The door closed behind him and he leaned against the frame, folding his arms together and setting one of his awful grins on her. 

“I rather think that’s my line.”

“Well, what _I_ want is for you to stop hovering round me like a buzzard and get on with whatever you’ve come to say.”

“Very well. You and I both know he’s gone and made a run for it.”

“I don’t know any such thing. In fact, that’s not at all what he said in his message. We’ve thirteen hours till the homing beacon starts transmitting, then we decide if we come back for him or not.”

“That,” said Avon, pushing himself from the doorframe and a few steps further into her cabin, “is not precisely what he said, either. ‘If either of us chooses not to keep the rendezvous’ is not quite an ironclad promise to agree to return should we — or any one of us — so wish it.”

“I don’t care what rubbish he said in that message. He’s upset. I know Blake, he’s not giving up.”

“You said it yourself: ‘it’s getting bad for him.’ He’s never experienced this level of guilt before.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about guilt.”

“Ah, but I do know Blake. And as you say, so do you.”

She furrowed her eyebrows and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“This is ridiculous, Avon, even for you.”

Avon stepped yet closer. 

“No more so than your refusal to see facts for what they are, being namely that Blake has left the ship and has done so with neither a weapon nor retrievable location coordinates. He has changed our orbital path and had Orac zero out the teleport controls under the cover of a secret data code. Do any of these things sound to you like the actions of a rational man who intends on safely returning to this ship?”

“It doesn’t matter what it sounds like to me. It’s Blake down there, not you and I.”

“Precisely. And so it is you and I that must decide what we are to do next.”

Jenna shook her head. “You really are something. There are two other people on this ship. Are you saying you want to dump them as well?”

“I am saying they will follow whoever leads _Liberator_ , and that Blake is no longer in that role. He has shrugged off the heavy mantle of responsibility and left it to us to decide how to proceed. We are no longer under the yoke of his zealotry. We have the most powerful ship in the galaxy. Anything we wish is ours for the taking.”

Jenna sighed, thinking he may as well have stuck a forked tongue out at her. “Why do I feel as though I’m having the world’s oldest conversation?”

“Oh, did you want an apple as well?”

Avon’s eye held that same damned glint as whenever he got in a particularly sly riposte between Blake’s ribs. Jenna considered throwing him out right then and there. 

“Sit down,” she said instead. “You’re making me nervous standing over me like that.”

Avon quirked up a corner of his mouth and lowered himself to sit beside her on the bed, keeping wary eye contact with her. If he’d shown her his teeth again she’d have thumped him onto the floor. She liked his little eye crinkle, though; it meant she’d knocked him a bit sideways. He wasn’t as impenetrable as he thought he was. 

Nor was he nearly as attractive as he thought he was, or as uninterested in her as he would prefer her to think. Early on, he hadn’t been as cagey about his appraisals of her attributes, and intuition told her he still thought about it. Perhaps not a lot, but she could feel whenever his eyes were on her arse on the flight deck. 

They were a small crew. They spent most of their time in long periods of miserable boredom only occasionally punctuated by moments of exhilarating terror. 

Shocking it had taken this long, really. 

_Attractive_ wasn’t even the right word for Avon, thought Jenna. He was disconcerting, selfish, cunning, amoral, remote — all distinctly unattractive qualities. In a mate, anyway — not that he’d ever be that to her, nor probably to anyone. (Though she had an idea that a good part of the reason Avon was in her room was because he was wretchedly upset at Blake for denying him the opportunity to deny _Blake_ first.)

They really were a tiny crew. And, Avon was probably right, even tinier now. 

“So what do you propose?” she asked him. 

“I seem to recall it being your move earlier.”

“That was a game.”

“And this isn’t?”

No, he wasn’t attractive. But there was something about him, some sharp, distinctly sexual energy that made him both magnetic and repellent. She could tell when he was consciously doing it, directing those signals around like a prick-shaped lighthouse, and — this was something she’d never admit even under pain of torture — it did sort of work for him. 

All right, Avon could be sexy, but he was a complete bastard about it. 

Jenna pushed herself up onto one elbow. “No, Avon. I’m afraid this is quite real.”

“Well. We have at least twelve hours to make a decision on the matter.” He tilted his face to her, slowly raised his eyelashes, and dropped his voice. “However, I should like to assist you in coming to a conclusion before then.”

“You must be mad.” She eyed the long line of his lean thighs in his trim black trousers and the curve of his back and shoulders beneath his high-collared, snug grey leather jacket. Leave it to Avon to choose clothing that acted somehow as both a fortification and an invitation. 

“Demonstrably.” He brought a hand to her knee and slowly slid it up her thigh. His thick, blunt fingers pressed deep into her flesh through the thin leather of her trousers and kneaded just below her hip. 

His eyes flashed when she didn’t stop him, and he focussed his gaze straight into hers. She held it, unflinching and hard, and kept her face expressionless. His hand stilled, and neither one of them moved for what felt like minutes as they silently sized one another up.

Jenna placed her fingers onto his and slid them into the warm crevice between her legs. He instinctively curled them upwards and pushed against her through the leather. 

“Is this what you want, Avon?” she murmured.

His expression was otherwise still, but his eyes, as always, gave him away. They’d gone black and glassy, and shifted between where he was touching her, to her breasts, then back to her eyes. He moved his fingers on his own now, experimental, as if examining some data set for acceptance or rejection. She surmised his answer as a matter of course, but he answered:

“Well, now, I’d prefer to know if it is indeed what you want, but I’m afraid if the empirical evidence is affirmative, it is rather obstructed by your choice in clothing material.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Take off your jacket.” 

He tilted his head to the side but did as she told him. Beneath, he wore a loose-fitting black shirt, tucked into his trousers and buttoned to the top of the flipped-up collar. He dropped the jacket onto the floor beside the bed and swallowed, his Adam’s apple enticingly bobbing up and down, as if tempting Jenna to bring her teeth to it and — damn the consequences — bite. 

“Now your shirt,” she commanded. 

He laughed shortly. “This arrangement was intended to be equitable, and I am not an exhibitionist.”

Jenna very much doubted the truth of either statement, but she unzipped her jacket to reveal, aside from her necklace, her bareness beneath. 

“Is this equitable enough for you?”

His jaw loosened, and his usually tight, pale lips filled out and pinkened. He brought his hand to her waist, smoothed his palm over her flat belly, then rubbed at her sternum between her breasts. 

“This is... workable.”

“Shirt, Avon.” She licked her lips. “Then my boots.”

His big fingers smoothly undid each button one by one (rather too slowly, but Jenna kept that opinion to herself, lest she seem desperate) until the loose shirt lay open. He slid one shoulder out, then the other, and shrugged the garment off and onto the floor to join his jacket. 

He looked good, Jenna had to admit. He’d lost a little weight and toned up a bit since the last time she’d seen him like this, back on the _London_. Maybe Cally had been giving him private yoga lessons, who knew? (Who cared?) Beneath all the heavy costumes he favoured, he possessed some surprisingly defined pecs, and Jenna supposed it wouldn’t be too much to let him know she’d noticed the results of his obvious work. She lifted her eyebrows appreciatively. 

She raised her knee, and he took her leg in his hands to lift it from the bed. He kneaded her calf through the leather for a moment, then tried to slip off the boot but it wouldn’t budge. He knelt at the end of the bed, facing her, gripped her boot just above the heel and, after a few tugs, managed to pry it loose enough to remove. The second boot came off easier. He dropped it into the growing pile of clothing on the floor and sat back on his heels.

Despite every protest he’d ever made to the contrary, Avon clearly enjoyed being led. Therefore, Jenna simply watched him. It was an opportunity to take in the details of him — the rigid lines of his clavicles, his lean forearms, his narrow hips. The slight curl of his hair just above his ears, rather nicely grown out from that short, awkward fringe he’d worn the first year she’d known him. He was tight, lithe, compact — not her usual type, and everything Blake wasn’t, but in the moment she could appreciate the aesthetics. And judging by the front of his increasingly tightening trousers, he could appreciate hers. 

“Well?” he finally snapped.

“Well, what?” she laughed smugly. 

“I didn’t intend on spending the entire interim waiting for Blake’s homing beacon in here. Is this a solution or a stalemate?”

“You want the answer in words, or do you still need empirical evidence?”

“I’ve made what I believe is a reasonable conjecture but I’d rather not risk having an eye put out should I be wrong.”

“Then I imagine you do indeed need evidence... though there could always be a paradox.” Enjoying herself, she tilted her head back and teased him with laughter. “For instance,” she cooed mockingly, “right now I am either clenched or drenched for you. I am neither and both until you see for yourself.”

“So long as you aren’t keeping poison and a caesium atom in there as well.”

“Fuck you, Avon.”

“We’ll see.” He shifted himself closer and parted her legs between his knees. Then he leaned down and nearly shocked all composure out of her by licking a slow, lazy circle over her leather-encased right inner thigh. 

Who was she fooling? There was absolutely no paradox. This was _serious_. 

Avon put his face between her legs and she felt the heat of his mouth through the leather, and for one mortifying second, she thought she’d cry out. Oh god, she was not going to come before he even properly touched her — she’d unquestionably have to kill him then, space the body, and hope to hell that someone else knew how to reprogramme the food synthesiser when it occasionally refused to dispense anything but protein cubes in aspic. 

He moved up further and tongued her navel, grabbing hard at her hips and arse. She gave up the farce of trying not to gyrate beneath him when he brought his fingers round and rubbed at her stiff little nub through the leather. He did this for an unbearable amount of time while nipping his teeth into her inner thighs, until finally he went for the fastener of her trousers. 

God _damn_ , she wanted it now, wanted it bad — and wanted it from him. That was the worst part — _Avon_ had done this to her, but she was too turned on now to be angry about it. There would be entirely too much idle spaceflight time for that later. 

She raised her hips and he peeled off her trousers with fresh urgency. She had been about to make him take off her knickers with his teeth, but he was being efficient now, and they’d come off before she could get out the first syllable. 

She parted her legs and he touched her straight away, evidently impatient for the answer that was ready and waiting for him. He raised his hand so that she could see him roll her wetness between his thumb and fingers. 

She expected a smug quip, or at least a graceless smirk. Instead, he gazed at her with a desire that she briefly feared was much too sincere. But when he shifted himself down onto his elbows, then down on her, she forgot entirely to panic. 

Jenna had been eaten out in many different ways and settings (free trading was fun and profitable for a number of reasons), and therefore considered herself a connoisseur of what constituted good cunnilingus. She’d been munched on Mars, tongued on Titan, licked in the lap of luxury on Luxor 4, even slurped in a Space City steam room, but she’d never before been chewed out by a churlish computer tech over an unnamed planet in the Fifth Sector, and she wondered what in space had taken her so long.

Clearly, mastery of technology wasn’t Avon’s only preternatural skill. Jenna pushed away her amazement at this discovery so that she could best concentrate on the small miracles he was performing at her altar while speaking in tongues. 

He alternated long, flat strokes with quick, pointed flicks, and occasionally delved deep into her to drink straight from her source. She grabbed his head, spun tufts of his soft, fine hair round her fingers, and shoved his mouth harder into her cunt, thrilling a little when his teeth scraped her tender, sensitive flesh. 

He didn’t fight her. He let her rub all over his face, even fuck herself on his nose for a few mortifying seconds that served to confirm the both of them had lost their minds (and in the moment, Jenna was quite grateful for the company). 

They were both breathing hard now, and she allowed herself a quiet mewl when he pushed a finger inside her. It was exactly what she’d wanted at exactly the right time — to hell with hiding her immediate desires any longer. He pushed a second finger inside and sucked at her clit. She must have gushed a little, because he let out an approving moan from between her folds. 

He kept up an admirably steady pace of fingering and licking her without tiring, though his exertion was evident by the way his wet hair clung to his forehead. His tongue pushed into her from between his slick, red lips, and his skin glistened all over with a sheen of sweat. _Don’t call him beautiful_ , Jenna admonished herself, laying her head back. _It’s only Avon_.

 _Only Avon_ , she marvelled, that had her on the verge of coming with a scream into his hot, thirsty mouth. Only Avon that made her suddenly afraid she might have an aneurysm if he stopped before she could get there. 

Then, the most intrusive thought of all came crashing down on her: 

_What if Blake could see this?_

She screwed her eyes shut and tried to wrest from her mind any notion of Blake, tried to erase the thought in the first place, but it didn’t work. The idea of making Blake sick with jealousy hooked itself into her insidiously, made her throb, and caused Avon to make another noise of delight. 

“Avon...” Jenna moaned. “Avon, you’ve got to fuck me. Now.”

His eyes flew open to meet her gaze. She sat up, took off her jacket the rest of the way, and flung it aside. 

“I mean it. You’ve got to do it _now_.”

“A most decisive answer,” he replied, and raised himself up on his hands and knees. He took her mouth hungrily into his, his face still wet with her. 

He tasted of her, yet also himself, and their commingled scents appeared to arouse him as much as they did her. She leaned back onto the bed and he followed her without breaking the kiss, one hand beside her holding himself up, the other fumbling at the top of his trousers. He got them open and she pushed them down along with his pants until they were halfway down his thighs. He pulled back from her just long enough to wriggle the rest of the way out of them, then lowered himself onto her. He then took her mouth back into his in a deep, skilful kiss so intense that she almost forgot to register the extreme cognitive dissonance of having the full measure of Kerr Avon’s pale, sweaty, naked body pressed against her own... and liking it. 

His cock laid hard and hot on her belly, his balls tight against her mound. He swirled his tongue over hers and moved his hips in a teasing, slow rhythm that was maddening, so she grabbed his arse and pushed him hard against her. He briefly looked as if he found this amusing, but wisely turned his attention to her breasts before she could consider crushing his nuts between her thighs. 

He took one nipple into his mouth and rolled the other between his long, blunt fingers. Tilting his hips and adjusting his position, he rubbed his cock against her cunt, the slippery head of it sliding back and forth over her clit, between her folds, then a little warningly, against her arse.

He bit at one of her nipples, then the other, then soothed them with soft suckling. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his back, through the spray of soft, dark hair on his chest. Then she angled her hips so that he was positioned at her entrance, the tip of his cock barely breaching her, one small but deliberate motion away from him being fully inside her. 

“This _is_ what you want?” he asked, with an air of almost reverential finality that nearly offended her. 

“Fuck’s sake, yes,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve already said. Now are you going to get on with it or not?”

He pointed an enormous smirk at her, then drove his point home. 

It was an excellent point, longer and thicker than she’d expected, but then, Avon always did hold the best parts of himself out of public view. It was typically perverse of him to brag about his shortcomings while hiding his assets, but the only person that seemed ever truly bothered about that was Blake. 

_Blake_ ... damn the name, damn the man himself for intruding into her consciousness. But... what would his expression be if he were watching? If he could see how soaking wet her cunt was with Avon inside it, and how thick and hard Avon was for her, and how... _wickedly_ good he was at all this, my _god_ , who knew?

Avon plunged harder into her. “He’d hate it.” 

“What?” Jenna croaked between increasingly jarring thrusts. 

“You... wanted... _ahhh_... to know what Blake would think.”

Oh, no. No. She hadn’t said anything out loud. She couldn’t have. 

“He’d be _incandescent_ ,” Avon snarled in her ear. “And it would serve him right.”

(Oh god, she _had_ said it out loud, fucking _WHY?_ )

Avon was right. If faced with this tableau, Blake would certainly never come back. He’d burn himself up with righteous anger, then shame, then wallowing self-pity, then he’d fuck off to some seedy planet in need of saving and they’d never hear from him again. That would teach him to take people for granted. 

Jenna dug her fingers into Avon’s arse cheeks, shoved him in harder, and rode him from beneath. He matched her sudden rhythm changes seamlessly, a perfect follower to her lead. He was impossible to throw off, which both annoyed and thrilled her, but when he slipped a hand beneath her arse and canted her hips up just enough to allow him to bullseye into her spot, all desire for control abandoned her. 

He nudged one of her legs up onto his sweat-slick shoulder, and the angle allowed him to hit her even deeper yet, every thrust and retreat of his hips cruelly designed to bring her just to the stiletto tip of orgasm and then withhold from her the final, fatal plunge. 

Just when Jenna had decided to force a furious reversal of their positions, Avon arched his back and stretched out his neck until every engorged vein and throbbing artery mapped out the connections of that strange brain of his to the rest of him. His mouth hanging agape, his face nearly purple with strain, he looked as if he’d either just spent himself or been stabbed in the back. 

“Jenna...” he finally panted, “are you on supplements?”

“No,” she grunted. “You?”

He shook his head and, clearly agonised, stilled. 

“I don’t give a damn, don’t you dare stop,” Jenna growled, clenching around his cock. 

“But —”

She grabbed his chin and squeezed hard. “Don’t make me kill you.”

He stared at her with those strange space-black eyes of his and said, “I see,” and drove his teeth into her throat. 

He fucked her deep, alternating pulling out nearly all the way then crashing back in until he bottomed out, all the while sucking at her neck like a starving mutoid. So, he wanted to mark her, obviously so Blake could see and be beautifully torn up about it. She rather despicably enjoyed the thought of it herself. 

They could even take it up a notch, she imagined feverishly; a sordid bit of reproductive roulette.

Jenna thought about Avon’s come, bursting deep inside her in great gouts, impregnating her, and it drove her straight to the precipice. She moaned his name, told him what she wanted. 

He slid his lips from her neck to her mouth and kissed her with something more akin to passion than anything he’d shown her up to then. For a second it legitimately spooked her, but this was Avon — of course _he_ wouldn’t misinterpret this. Even drunk with extravagantly good sex, he would understand the perverse gamble for what it was. 

“Yes,” he agreed, sighing into her mouth, “I could come in you, deep as you like. Deep enough to make you...” he paused, shifting so he could rub his thumb in circles on her clit while they fucked. “He’d be so angry... so betrayed. Never forgive us...”

“I want it Avon, I want you to do it...”

“You’d be full of me... your belly full of me... and he’d have to see it, every day... have to picture it, over and over... oh _god_.”

She slid her leg off his shoulder and crossed her ankles behind him, pushing her heels into the small of his back. She grabbed his flanks so hard she knew there would be finger-shaped marks later. 

“Do it, Avon. I want all your come in me, deep as you can get it... _gush_ it into me, make me pregnant and he’ll _have_ to see... I’ll suck it all right out of you, Avon... suck it all right out.”

His arms shook on either side of her head, and he quickened his pace. 

“All right... you’ll have it. You’ve made me do it... made me —”

“All of it, Avon... _damn_ you, give me _all_ of it.” The flutterings deep inside her pelvis began rolling outward in increasingly larger waves, finally cresting when their undulating momentum reached just the right pitch to shatter and drown her. 

He gasped, stuttered out a keening whimper, and buried his face against her throat. His cock pulsed inside her and she came down all over him, all around him, her own juddering orgasm squeezing every last drop out of him before his arms finally gave out and the full weight of him fell on top of her. 

They lay there for a moment, heaving and panting, before he grew soft and started to slip out of her. He rolled onto his side, his cock leaving a slick trail across her thigh, a warm mess between her legs, and lingering spasms in her cunt. 

“Well,” he said, his eyes bright, “I hope that was indeed... equitable.”

“Quite.” She turned her head to peer at the timepiece beside her bed. 

“I’d estimate we have one less hour to decide what to do. Is that right?”

“I thought we’d already decided.”

“Yes, of course.” He sat up and reached for his rumpled up trousers at the end of the bed, and slipped them on. 

She reached for her jacket on the floor. “I’ll go to the medbay and see if there are any pills about.”

He stood up and shrugged on his shirt. “And I’ll see about programming an automatic search pattern for the homing beacon on the flight deck.”


End file.
